“A letter from uncle, mother,” said he, as he laid it on the stand by her side, “and Sophie has accepted my escort for her niece, and I am to set off in the morning. Sophie will be here with us to tea.” Emily nodded and nodded assent to everything he said, though she heard not half while devouring her brother’s letter. “How is he—what does he say, mother?” exclaimed Gusty, when she had finished reading. “He will visit us soon—he is going to be married.” “Mar—married!” “Yes.” “To whom?” “To a young lady, he says, whom he has known for a long time, and who has his warmest affections and his highest respect.” “He married, too! well everybody gets married but me—lend me the letter, mother, let me see all about it,” and she handed him the letter. While he was reading the letter, Emily looked out, and exclaimed:— “There is Sophie now! go and help her from her saddle, Gusty!” and Gusty went. Emily followed more at leisure, and received her friend with her accustomed affection, whispering in confidence, “I have made a cream cake for your tea, darling,” and led her in, took off her bonnet, and seated her near the pleasantest window. When she had carried away her things, and returned, sitting by her, she said suddenly, in the midst of a gossipping conversation:— “But, Sophie, you never ask me after my brother Augustus!” “Don’t I?” said Sophie, faintly. “Why, _no_, you know you don’t—what ever can be the reason?” “How is he—have you a letter?” “Ah! exactly—‘how is he,’ when I have reminded you to ask.” “Forgive my forgetfulness, Emily.” “His ship has returned, did you know it?” “No,” said Sophie softly. “Well, it _has_. Came in port nine days since—he is coming down to visit us very soon—how long has it been since you saw him, Sophie?” “I don’t know,” answered Sophie reservedly. “Let’s see, I can tell, he has only been here three times since, and that was while you were so taken up, that you never came near us—let’s see, it will be exactly eight years next Tuesday week since you met, and next Tuesday week I am to give a party to our bride, Hagar. He will be here on that day, and I fancy there will be another bride. Why, Sophie, what a color you have this evening—he is going to be married, and will probably bring his wife down—no, Sophie, it must have been the reflection of the sunset, for now I see you are quite pale, paler than usual—are you sick?” “Oh! no, no.” “A little fatigued, I suppose. (Gusty rang for tea.) Yes! a young lady to whom he has long been attached—she’s fainted. I wonder when Sophie will ever have any nerves?” “How easily she swoons! Sophie never _was_ strong,” exclaimed Emily, as she raised and set her back, reached a tumbler of water, and bathed her temples. As Sophie opened her eyes she met those of Emily, looking kindly, sweetly, and with a new expression, into hers. “How do you feel, love?” was Emily’s first question. “Better.” “What made you faint? was it fatigue?”